


Red

by spinel



Category: Naruto
Genre: Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Snark, Topping from the Bottom, mild unconventional D/s vibes, post-mission H/C
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinel/pseuds/spinel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caring for Kakashi after missions doesn't get easier with time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morgainedeshone](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Morgainedeshone).



> A thousand thanks to E for her never-ending patience at my whining, and for her typo hunting.
> 
> Dear [morgainedeshone](http://morgainedeshone.deviantart.com/), I tried combining both your prompts ('homecoming' and 'what is normal for them') and ran with the result. It's a bit of a future-fic as well as an established-relationship slice of life-type fic, so I ardently hope that doesn't count as too AU in your book. Happy holidays!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** All Naruto characters herein are the property of Masashi Kishimoto. No copyright infringement is intended.

Kakashi lands soundlessly in the bedroom after perching on the windowsill for a heartbeat and scanning his surroundings thoroughly. He stinks of blood, mud and sweat, but at least he isn't dripping with them anymore. His whole body aches. His porcelain mask is brown with dried blood spatter.

The light is off, but the outline of the low bed is visible. The covers are neatly made but there are clothes on the floor, near the end of the bed by the window. He avoids the pile, steps up to the bedside table. The red ribbon sits innocuously on the smooth blond wood.

Even now, he could choose not to take it. Iruka revels in giving—his time, his body, _himself_ —but Kakashi must ask for it.

Iruka makes him work for the smallest things.

His gloved fingers close around the ribbon, matting it with dirt and flecks of dried blood. It's okay, though, because Iruka washes the ribbon lovingly when they're done as Kakashi watches. He's still jittery, of course, but his breathing is less harsh now and his head already feels quieter.

*

Iruka is busy grading papers when he feels a faint sweep of chakra from the bedroom. His hand stills but he remains seated on the floor, his students' homework fanned in front of him. It only takes a second for the dark figure to materialise by the bedroom door. He slowly takes stock of the ANBU's stance—rigid, his slouch non-existent—the blood spattered over the mask, the other man's reek. The killing intent that is still being broadcast.

"Hound-san", Iruka says respectfully, bowing his head. He keeps his eyes to the floor until a pair of feet come into his vision and the smell becomes overpowering. It takes all his experience not to gag as he hears a thud and the red ribbon is being thrust in his face. He closes both hands around Hound's fist and presses a light kiss onto the covered knuckles. A shudder runs through Hound's frame and Iruka finally lifts his eyes to see Hound has sunk to his knees. The grey hair in his line of vision—Hound is staring at his scuffed knees—is matted with blood. Heart beating wildly, Iruka shifts slowly until he's kneeling as well, and facing the tense ANBU. His right hand detaches itself from where it had still been clutching Hound's fist and he extends his arm—very slowly—until the tip of his fingers reach the chin of Hound's mask. He taps it once, very lightly.

Hound's kunai is immediately at his throat.

Iruka fights to keep his muscles loose under the surge of adrenaline. "Hound-san", he says. "Look at me". Hound only presses the kunai against his throat. " _Look_ at me, Hound!" Iruka finally snaps, his teacher voice coming through but his fingers still barely touching the mask.

Hound's face slowly comes up, and Iruka can see a sliver of red through the mask's eyelets. Hound's kunai is still at his throat, and the killing intent is still there.

With a chakra-infused flick, Iruka sends the mask flying. Kakashi's face is livid underneath, the Sharingan spinning wildly. His mask is torn and half-hanging off his face. "Kakashi," Iruka tries again, but the kunai doesn't leave his throat. "The mask is _off_ , Kakashi," he finally says, voice sharp.

Another shudder goes through Kakashi, but even in this state he has exquisite control: the kunai at Iruka's throat doesn't waver or press into his flesh as Kakashi blinks slowly, as if he's awakening from a deep sleep.

It takes a little more than a minute, but Kakashi's eyes finally close, the killing intent draining out from him as he sheathes the kunai. He sways on his knees and Iruka is right there, arms open to cradle the other man close. His hands come up to rest on Kakashi's back as the jounin buries his face in the crook of Iruka's neck and just breathes.

They stay like this for a while. Iruka's fingers card through the shorn grey locks slowly as his other arm is loose around Kakashi's waist; the sword is getting in the way. His yukata is most likely stained with mud and blood now, but he couldn't care less: Kakashi has been gone for longer than anticipated. His missions are getting riskier, and Iruka knows what happens to ninja who have reached the age that they have and who are still on active duty. They are some of the best on the terrain; after all, they are still alive and able after thirty-five. And Kakashi is _the_ best. When Iruka lets himself think about it, there's the niggling worry that it's taking longer and longer for Kakashi to snap out of his battle-induced haze, that he seems to be needing something— _someone_ , his mind whispers, _you_ —to anchor him. This is not the life he ever envisaged himself living, waiting and hoping and worrying about one of Konoha's most powerful shinobi.

"I can hear you thinking." Kakashi's voice is low and scratchy, and his head doesn't move from Iruka's neck. His body is finally slumping against Iruka, his face mashed up against the side of Iruka's throat. The body armour digs into Iruka's chest where Kakashi is pressed against him.

"Can you now? I thought we had agreed on no more mind jutsus copied from questionable sources," Iruka says softly, shifting on his knees and pushing Kakashi away from him. "Come on now, you're back. Time to rejoin the land of the living." He grabs Kakashi's shoulders, pushes the other man up. They both sway drunkenly to their feet and Iruka muffles a laugh—short, a little bit hysterical—because Kakashi really does look dead on his feet, and that is not something he wants to contemplate. Grabbing Kakashi's wrist he walks them the three steps to the bathroom, turns around when he doesn't feel Kakashi's body collide with his. He should be used to it by now, he thinks, used to the silence and the emptiness that characterises Kakashi coming down from a mission high. But it is still bizarre to meet those mismatched eyes, to see Kakashi's head cocked slightly to the left, his body loose. Still waiting for orders.

"Clothes off."

Kakashi's hands are slow-moving, picking at his forearm protectors. They're matted with dirt and dried bodily fluids, as are the gloves underneath. Iruka kneels, slowly puts his hands on Kakashi's thighs. He knows it's okay but since that first time years ago where Kakashi almost took his head off, it's rote. His fingers start undoing the white strips around Kakashi's thigh: he's careful not to nick his fingers on the smooth needles he uncovers or handle the tiny powder pouches too long because both are poisonous. The bandages finish in a pile by the door, Kakashi's back-up weapons neatly lined in a large dish they have on the floor next to the bathroom.

They've never spoken about it, but the day after Iruka pricked his foot on a stray needle because he was too busy yelling at Kakashi placing all his students' homework in between pages of the _Icha Icha_ series to notice it on the floor, he came back from the hospital to find the large ceramic plate sitting in the kitchen. By the time Kakashi's next mission came around, it had moved to its permanent place by the lav. The best place for it to be, Iruka thinks, especially when Kakashi cannot stand or is bleeding heavily, which seems to be more often than not these days.

"You're not being helpful, Kakashi." Iruka's already pulled down the stiff dark trousers and gotten rid of the bloodied sandals. He doesn't say he wishes Kakashi had taken them off before traipsing all over the living room—Kakashi wants to leave a mark, especially here where he lives, where he breathes, where he knows he _will_ be missed for no other reason than leaving dog-eared porn lying around. Kakashi has gotten rid of his forearm protectors but is still wearing the armor, his shirt, the cowl half-hanging off his face. The Sharingan is still visible when Iruka glances up, gaze skating past the long, limp cock nested in silver curls. He tamps down the automatic surge of arousal by looking at Kakashi's thighs, bruised and purple.

Iruka rolls to his feet gracefully, tutting. Kakashi is only a little bit taller, so Iruka doesn't really struggle to pull the grimy shirt off and only has to go on his toes because Kakashi doesn't bend his head down. His throat catches when he finally takes a look at the revealed skin. A collection of scrapes, cuts, and mottled bruises. Some cuts are still bleeding, dark fibres stuck at the wound's edges.

"Kakashi..."

Kakashi doesn't answer. He really should be used to it by now, Iruka thinks despairingly, his fingers running lightly over smooth biceps, over that dreaded tattoo, up into the grungy hair. He tilts Kakashi's head down a little until their lips are inches apart, grins affectionately right into that aloof face staring at him.

"Hi there." Kakashi's eyes crinkle just a little bit and the left corner of his mouth twitches up. Iruka grabs the red ribbon he'd stuffed into the pocket of his yukata, waves it next to Kakashi's ear, arches an eyebrow.

Kakashi's mouth crashes into his, his teeth catching on Iruka's lower lip, his hand grabbing Iruka's wrist and trapping the red ribbon against his skin. Iruka moans, heat surging through him, his fingers tightening into that disgusting mop of hair, his tongue battling Kakashi's and chasing it back to Kakashi's mouth, which tastes of blood and stale rations and something a little bit sour. He must make a sound, because Kakashi's lips leave his and he's grinning, eyes slitted. "Too much field exposure for you, sensei?"

"Bite your tongue," Iruka replies, loosening Kakashi's fist from around his wrist. He's looking at Kakashi's face when he ties the ribbon around the bruised wrist, sees Kakashi's face smooth and a small sigh leave him, the tall frame slumping infinitesimally: it's easier to see the movement with Kakashi's ribs so well-defined. He's losing the thin layer of fat that cushioned his muscles a few years ago, and Iruka tries not think about the extra definition his lover has acquired. "You're mine now". Iruka's voice is husked.

"Mm, sensei. Kinky," Kakashi murmurs. His face cocks to the left and Iruka's hand is right there against his cheek, his thumb smoothing out a brown smudge.

"To the bath with you."

Kakashi's only response is to turn his face into Iruka's palm, to press his lips to to the line there. Iruka's heart lurches in his throat and his fingers caress the short grey strands. "Bath, I said," he admonishes.

"Will you not lead me, sensei?" Kakashi answers, rubbing his face to Iruka's palm.

Iruka's fingers twitch against Kakashi's hair before grabbing a fistful of it, yanking it. "Bath, I said."

Kakashi's mouth turns up at one corner but he obediently turns around, crosses the threshold into the lav. His hips try to sway but he favours his left leg. "You know what your teacher's voice does to me, Iruka-sensei."

"Just sit, Kakashi," Iruka sighs, trying to sound put upon. He has the feeling Kakashi knows he really isn't. Kakashi fold himself on the wooden stool and stretches his legs slowly. Iruka crouches next to him, pulls out the small first aid box they have stashed in one corner, a small bassinet with warm water from the bath that has been steaming since yesterday evening, three soft cloths and some soap.

He starts with Kakashi's feet and works his way up—Kakashi's right sole has a few splinters but nothing serious, and his skin is bruised but most of the scrapes are already healing. He cleans them slowly, soaps up Kakshi's ankles, his calves, the back of his knees and up to the crease between his thighs and his groin. Kakashi is still except for a short, aborted breath when Iruka's head is near his thigh. Iruka doesn't need to glance up to know Kakashi is half-hard and that the Sharingan is spinning.

He bypasses Kakashi's torso entirely to start on his abused arms. This time the sighs are more frequent and Kakashi's eyes are actually closed. He picks at the edges of the bleeding cuts, cleans them out and stitches some up. His needlework is quick and precise, a far cry from when they first started doing this. Kakashi's left side bears a scar from his early work.

He spends some time rubbing Kakashi's hands, cleaning out the blood and grime under the short fingernails. This time Kakashi exhales slowly and squirms a little. Iruka glances down, sees that Kakashi's cock has risen and is fully hard. Kakashi's thin lips are pursed hard and Iruka just smiles when the mismatched eyes glare balefully at him. "We're not done yet," is his only response.

Kakashi grumbles a little but that is quickly eclipsed when Iruka starts working on his chest. The bruising is extensive and there are deep scratches along Kakashi's ribs which are not knitting properly. "Were you poisoned?" He worries at the ugly wound with a clean cloth even as he knows the answer.

"Have been exposed to it already, so am immune. I sweated it out a few hours ago." Kakashi answers softly. With the red ribbon around his wrist he cannot lie, and Iruka cannot fault him for coming into his care instead of going to the hospital. A condition to this is that the red ribbon only comes into play once Iruka has assessed Kakashi's physical injuries and decided whether to take the risk of having one of Konoha's best shinobi die on him unexpectedly in the night.

Iruka just sighs and proceeds to clean and disinfect the wound. He's careful, but he doesn't anticipate Kakashi's aroused state is going to last. By the time he's done, Kakashi is limp all over, shoulders stooped and in a half-bow. Iruka gets up, his knees creaking, and sets his soapy fingers into Kakashi's shorn hair. The water in the bassinet is dark brown with mud and blood and all the cloths are in a dirty pile when he urges Kakashi to his feet, kneels back on the floor and cleans the sweat out of the gray patch of curls at Kakashi's groin, soaps up and rinses the limp cock and balls, slides his sudsy hand behind the latter and between Kakashi's arsecheeks, heedless of the clawed grip Kakashi suddenly has on his shoulder and the sharp breath he extricates from Kakashi's suddenly tense body.

"Sensei..." Kakashi's voice is very low and his eyes have darkened.

"We're not done. Yet." Iruka doesn't say anything more, gets up again, urges Kakashi into the bath after he removes the wooden covering keeping the water hot. Kakashi tips his head back and to the side once his body is fully submerged, tries glaring at Iruka.

Iruka ignores him, removes his stained yukata. He's naked underneath. He can feel Kakashi drinking him in as he puts his hair up, quickly soaps himself up and rinses off. He grabs a towel, gives himself a cursory wipe-down. "Ready for me?" He inclines his head towards Kakashi.

"Come and get me, sensei," is the indolent reply, as Kakashi's eyes move away purposefully and come to rest on the ceiling. His arm comes out of the tub and flops to the side.

"Is that so," Iruka murmurs. He braces himself on the side of the tub, lets his face come into Kakashi' view, makes his mouth hover right above those thin lips. Kakashi's head cranes back imperceptibly.

It takes five minutes for their tongues to disentangle themselves from each other; Kakashi's hands are grabbing both sides of Iruka's face, fingers anchored in Iruka's hair, and Iruka's arms are straining to support him above the bath. "I said 'out'", Iruka pants. "You're terrible at following orders."

"You shouldn't phrase your requests as questions, sensei. I would have thought your students would have taught you that," Kakashi mutters against Iruka's lips.

"Get out of the fucking bath, Kakashi."

"Much better." Kakashi heaves himself out of the water, sways a little until Iruka steadies him and helps him out. He stands there, dripping, while Iruka wraps him in a towel and dabs at him carefully. When he's relatively dry he just leans into Iruka's arms, rests his head in the crook of Iruka's shoulder.

"Are you munching on the tips of my hair again, Kakashi?" Iruka grouses but his hands are brisk on Kakashi's arms, on his back, careful of the bruises and cuts but still firm enough to get the blood flowing. It doesn't hurt that it also reassures him that Kakashi is here, back safely from wherever the Hokage sent him, and not lying somewhere, cold and dead.

"I wouldn't," Kakashi says, nipping at an escaped strand near Iruka's earlobe. "Never, sensei." Iruka lightly swats a pale arsecheek, grins when when Kakashi groans and presses against him. He can feel Kakashi's stiffening cock between them.

"To bed with you."

He thinks he hears Kakashi mutter 'tease' but when he asks, Kakashi just glares at him. He lets himself be lead to the bed, however, lets Iruka wrap a cloth around his eye, lets himself be manhandled in between the sheets. His cock is only at half-mast now and struggling to stay that way—Iruka guesses that he's been awake for ninety-six hours and counting. It is only when Iruka slips in besides him and reaches out to turn off the bedside lamp, hitching Kakashi's leg up his thigh and slotting them together that Kakashi's hips push insistingly against his. Iruka runs a soothing hand down Kakashi's back, across the knobs of his spine. "You're tired," he says.

Kakashi only presses their hips closer together. Iruka's body has already reacted to their closeness, the clean smell of his lover, the long limbs wrapped tightly around him. But he can't—Kakashi is weary, has not chafed, not once, under Iruka's ministrations.

He's indecisive, and he knows Kakashi can feel it. They're usually on the same page post-missions, sleeping them off intertwined or rutting to completion, depending on the difficulty. These new S-ranks, however...

Then Kakashi says, "Ichiraku," and Iruka's blood turns to ice.

"Have I pushed too much?" His fingers go to the red ribbon around Kakashi's wrist, start untying it nervously. They almost never use their safeword. Iruka prides himself on understanding just when Kakashi wants to let go, on exactly how much he sometimes wants to drop his responsibilities and be taken care of. It seems like he's failed tonight. Shame burns brightly behind his eyelids, causes his fingers to catch in the knot.

"Iruka, please." Kakashi's voice is low but his words are tinged with an edge of uncertainty. Iruka freezes, lets his eyes roam the face sharing his pillow. He'd swear Kakashi's cheeks were pinked but in the darkness, one cannot tell for sure. "I want. Page fifty-six." 

"Kakashi?" He can't decide if he's just hearing what what he wants to hear. He needs to make sure. But Kakashi doesn't answer, just pushes his head in the crook of Iruka's shoulder, nips at his neck. There's a faint 'please' against his skin.

His throat closes up. "You don't have to beg, Kakashi. Not for this." He rolls them over until Kakashi is lying beneath him. "Never for this." His mouth finds Kakashi's lips, nips gently at them. Kakashi's left leg hitches up his thigh, brings them closer together. "What about page thirty-seven? I don't want to tire you out." Even in the dark he can see the stubborn tilt of Kakashi's chin. "Page fifty-six it is," he smiles against Kakashi's mouth. He doesn't know if it is sad that two grown men have to communicate their desires using badly written novels, and frankly, right and this moment, he couldn't care less. Kakashi is moaning into the kiss, pushing up beneath Iruka's hands, fingers tangled in Iruka's long hair. He mutters a curse when Iruka's hand sweeps down his sides and back up, roams to tweak his nipple.

"That's not on page fifty-six, sensei," Kakashi says into Iruka's mouth. His breath stutters when Iruka pinches both nipples hard.

"I never said I wouldn't write my own script." Iruka mouths at Kakashi's neck, worries the soft skin there. His left hand has gone under the other pillow and retrieved the salve hidden under it. His hips are rocking against Kakashi and they're both hard and leaking. It's already almost like fucking, but Iruka has proposed page thirty-seven and it's not what Kakashi wants tonight.

No, tonight Kakashi wants to lie under Iruka, legs spread open wide as he's quickly slicked and stretched, knees folded up to his chin as Iruka moves slowly in and out of him.

That's what page fifty-six of _Icha Icha Violence_ is all about.

It takes a while for Iruka to work two fingers comfortably into Kakashi; his muscles are sore and that makes him twitchy, prone to clamping up. But the salve smells of eucalyptus and is Kakashi's favourite. It tingles and makes him squirm on Iruka's fingers, huff in Iruka's mouth. "Enough, sensei, just do it—" Kakashi finally pants, yanking on Iruka's hair and mashing their mouths together.

Iruka scissors his fingers wide inside Kakashi, speaks over the moan he elicits. "The protagonist takes it slow, Kakashi, on page fifty-six." He continues twisting his fingers deep, going counter to Kakashi's hips. "So will I."

"You said I wouldn't need to beg." Kakashi swears as Iruka purposefully hits his prostate and his hips stutter. His cock is leaking copiously over the enormous bruise on his stomach and Iruka is reminded of the effect of adrenaline and endorphins. He should be quick, so as to let Kakashi fly high then crash immediately. It doesn't hurt that he doesn't think he can hang on for much longer, either.

He slides into Kakashi in one slow, smooth stroke, causing the air to rush out of his lover with a sigh. Kakashi's knees are near his ears and Iruka is balancing carefully on Kakashi's shins, using them as leverage when he pulls out just as slowly until only the tip of his fat cock is at Kakashi's opening. Where Kakashi's cock is long and lean, Iruka's has just enough girth to make penetration fulfilling, Kakashi once said to him. Iruka doesn't want to know how Kakashi knows what his own cock feels like. He has the feeling sake, a bet, and a henge were involved.

His thrusts are smooth and controlled, deeply jarring and still slow, even with all of Kakashi's ten fingers fisted in his hair and pulling at it as he huffs soundlessly. His eye has been closed for a while now, and Iruka can feel Kakashi start to tighten around him and he knows Kakashi has come when he's yanked down and his lips smother a single, minute sound from Kakashi's mouth.

It takes less than a minute for Kakashi's legs to come down from around his hips and for his head to roll back. Iruka slips out of him slowly, rolls to the side and nestles his cock into the crease of Kakashi's hip. One of Kakashi's hands is still in his hair, slowly petting it, as Iruka mouths under Kakashi's jaw and finishes himself off quickly. Kakashi just mumbles incoherently, body pliant and already comatose, when Iruka reaches for the damp cloth on the nightstand to clean them both up. He grumbles until Iruka slots their hips together again and throws one of Kakashi's arms across his own side.

He knows Kakashi will move away in a few hours; so will he, for that matter. Shinobi cannot sleep in close proximity to one another. Until then, though, he'll offer what he can. The red ribbon says he's still allowed to call the shots.


End file.
